The Eyes of Others Read online

  I punch the number on the burner phone. Anonymity and deniability are the first two words you learn as a part of your Washington vocabulary. Untraceable cell phones provide both. I’d rather not have a record of the call I’m about to make.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you so early in the morning, Miss Attison, but I need your immediate attention on something.” I’m trying to be polite, but it doesn’t sound like she’s sleeping.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Colby Washington.”

  .

  ~ chapter 39 ~

  Gina attison

  I pull into the parking lot of the Hechinger Mall and drive around, looking for them. I’ve never been to this outlet mall before, so I’m not sure about the parking situation. The lot is empty, but I’m not even sure I’m in the right part of it. I make my way towards the Modell’s Sporting Goods store and to the parking area on the other side of the sprawling building when I check my rearview mirror for the thousandth time on this trip. It does little to soothe my paranoia.

  A pair of headlights flashes twice in my rearview mirror. That has to be them. Who else would be parked here at three thirty in the morning? I do a U-turn and pull the car up near them in the dimly lit far corner of the triangular-shaped lot. Slamming my vehicle in park, I waste no time unfastening my seat belt and kill my headlights. The three guys climb out of a ridiculous-looking sedan. Tara doesn’t bother to join them. I’m not surprised about that, nor am I unhappy about it. I give Boston a kiss and a long hug after he rushes over.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here. Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

  “Not really, but I don’t think I was. Why do you think they’d be following me?”

  “If they were watching me at Tara’s, it’s not a stretch to believe they were watching the house.” The comment causes me to exhale sharply.

  “Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” I hear from behind Boston in a thick Cajun accent.

  “You must be Louisiana. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “None of it good, I hope. It’s my pleasure to meet you,” he says with a little bow as I approach him. When he comes back upright, I smack him as hard as I can across the face.

  “Gina …” Boston scolds.

  “Ow, damn that hurt,” Louisiana says, rubbing his cheek as Maryland laughs next to him. “I’ve been slapped plenty of times before, but only for stuff I knew I did. What the hell was that for?”

  “For being stupid. This is Washington, D.C., not some backwater town in the Bayou. You can’t run around here blowing stuff up without attracting a lot of attention.”

  “All right, everyone calm down. Come with me, honey.”

  I don’t normally like it when a guy tells me what to do, even Boston. In this instance, it’s welcomed. I seriously want to rip Louisiana’s throat out for being stupid. We walk back behind my car and out of earshot before I say anything.

  “You never should have called him. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  “What’s done is done, honey,” Boston concludes, not bothering to even offer a lame defense. “You can verbally abuse me later, once we’re out of this mess. What do you have for me?”

  “A change of clothes, the disposable cell you asked for, some cash from our emergency fund at home,” I tell him as we move to the back of my Audi and I pop the trunk open. He unzips the backpack lying in the back and begins to inventory the contents. “And as much as I’m against it, I brought your weapon.”

  He pulls the Sig Sauer handgun he’s had since before we ever met out of the front pocket. With his back to everyone, he does a press check to see if a round is chambered and slides the weapon into the pocket of his light windbreaker. The weapon is registered, but he doesn’t have a concealed carry permit. I guess we can add that to the list of laws he’s broken in the last ninety minutes.

  “I hope you have no reason to use that thing,” I tell him, still assuaging my concerns about giving it to him.

  “Me too, sweetie, but the guy watching us shot at us as we were pulling away. I’m not taking any chances.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I. Being the subject of a city-wide manhunt is new to me,” Boston laments. “What is this going to mean for your job?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll find out when I get to the office. At a minimum, I’m going to have some difficult questions to answer. You’re not the only one with a security clearance to maintain, and they don’t take things like this lightly. This had better be worth it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “No, Boston, you’d better do more than ‘hope so’! You’d better know in your heart this is worth it,” I say, poking him in the chest for effect. “You’d better make it pan out, because this is it. You’re gambling with our future, so you should know the stakes. We can’t survive like this. I’m not sharing you with your obsession. So this is going to end or we’re through.”

  “I love you, Gina. And I’m sorry for getting you and everyone else into this, but this is who I am. You knew that. Don’t leave me now that I’m closer than we have ever been before.”

  Boston hates ultimatums, and I don’t like giving them. I want this to be done though. I won’t share him with this obsession any longer. I only hope the things he’s seeing are actually true and not something put inside his head by the blonde in the back of his car. The sooner he gets his answer, the sooner we can move forward.

  “Do you really think Colby Washington is the mole?” I whisper to him, trying to get a grip on my emotions.

  I don’t know Boston’s director, but he’s a career bureaucrat and doesn’t strike me as the type to go rogue. Of course, I could say the same thing about Hansen, Ames, or any of America’s most notorious double agents. It’s the ones you’d never expect who do the most damage.

  “I don’t know. He never investigated my allegations, but didn’t fire me when he suspected I was looking into it myself. He’s protected me from Garrett who hates me, so it’s hard to believe he is involved. At the same time, he was having us watched.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure about what I saw in the memory. It was him. The rest is me putting together the pieces. Why?”

  “Because he called me on my cell right before I left to come here.”

  “What? Why would he do that?”

  “According to him, he was trying to get me to have the senator call him.”

  “About what?”

  “He didn’t say. It was a short conversation.”

  “So the man who ordered me placed under surveillance calls my fiancée to arrange a meeting with her boss? That doesn’t make sense. You don’t think Senator Ludwick and he could be in league, do you?”

  Politicians are slimy creatures by nature. They never give you a straight answer and can almost always be counted on doing only what is in their own best interests. Sometimes that aligns with the will of the American people, but often it does not.

  Despite my innate disgust having to work with them, they are not all bad people. Their perspectives may be skewed from too many years in Washington, but none of them are the evil, caricatured figures you see on shows like House of Cards. No, Senator Ludwick may be a self-absorbed, pompous ass, but he’s not a traitor.

  “I highly doubt it,” I answer, “but anything is possible. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Boston says, scanning the parking lot. “Every cop in Washington is looking for us right now, so we need to get off the streets.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know.” The hell it is.

  “Boston―”

  “Gina, please. They can’t trace these burner phones back to us. I’ll keep in touch using them to let you know I’m okay. It’s better if you
don’t know anything more that can compromise you when they start asking questions. I’ve already put your job in jeopardy. I’ve already put our relationship in jeopardy. I don’t want you to have to lie for me any more than necessary.”

  “Okay.” It’s all I can say. I don’t like it, but it makes sense.

  “You’d better get going. The police are probably already on their way to our place and it’d be better if you were there when they arrive.”

  “Okay,” I say, not happy about leaving him. The last thing I want is him spending time with the blonde tart sitting in the back of that clown car he’s driving. I want to offer to go with them wherever they are going, but I know I can’t.

  “You’re going to get a visit from the FBI at some point, too. They’re going to accuse me of all sorts of things. You’re going to need to be ready for it.”

  “I will,” I respond, giving him a kiss and another long hug. “And every federal agency and cop in Washington is going to be looking for you. Keep your head down and promise me you’ll get this done as soon as you can. I want you to come home to me.”

  We break our embrace and head back to our cars. We pull out of the empty parking lot and head in separate directions. With everything that is happening, I hope that isn’t a metaphor for our relationship too.

  .

  ~ chapter 40 ~

  eric “maryland” williams

  The four of us walk in the back door of Tara’s friend’s house on S Street near Logan Circle after a short fifteen-minute drive from where we met Gina. We crossed paths with three Metro Police squad cars along the way and held our collective breath each time they passed us. Fortunately, the dragnet that they cast was likely searching for Tara’s red SUV and none of them showed any interest in stopping us.

  Louisiana starts looking through the kitchen cabinets even before Tara closes the back door. The rest of us leave him to his scavenger hunt and continue on to the living room. Boston takes a look around, the backpack Gina gave him slung over his right shoulder. I’m content to stand with my hands in my pockets.

  “This should be a good place to hide for a while,” Boston observes.

  “This broad had better drink!” Louisiana bellows from the kitchen as the sound of him rummaging through cabinets echoes into the living room.

  “It’s four in the morning, jerk off! Shut up!” I shout. “I’m so tired of him.”

  “What’s your problem?” Boston asks, dropping the backpack on the sofa against the wall. Did he seriously just ask me that?

  “My problem? My problem? What the … What the hell are we doing? I mean, we’re getting shot at, we’ve got Crazy Harry over there blowing up and stealing cars, and you’re perfectly okay with it! Even miss ‘I abhor violence’ Tara over there is playing along.”

  “Don’t drag me into this conversation.”

  “Crazy Harry?” Louisiana asks, returning from the kitchen with a glass of liquor.

  “From The Muppet Show. He was always using dynamite,” Tara explains.

  “Hey, jackass! I only use C4.”

  “Shut up, Louisiana,” Boston scolds.

  “I’m just sayin’, bro. There’s no problem that can’t be solved with generous amounts of plastic explosive,” Louisiana opines, saluting with his glass before taking a long sip of whatever he found in the liquor cabinet.

  “Yeah, you solved a lot of problems with it tonight, didn’t you?” I retort. He just doesn’t get it.

  “You got something to say, Maryland?”

  “Yeah, I got something to say. None of what happened tonight was necessary. They were watching us. So what? Big whoop. Let them watch. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “No, we weren’t, but somebody saw fit to watch us anyway. Why would they do that? Why would they have someone break into Tara’s apartment?”

  “She wasn’t home, Boston.”

  “She came home. He was in her house while she was there. If he was capable of that, what else do you think he’s capable of?”

  “If it was Colby, or Garrett, or anyone else in the DIA who ordered it, do you really think it would have gone that far?” I ask in disgust. He’s not seeing the big picture and I don’t know how to convince him that he let Louisiana make matters worse tonight.

  “If either of them ordered surveillance done without a warrant or any sort of higher approval, what makes you think it wouldn’t have? I have no idea what game they are playing―”

  “This isn’t a game, Boston! And it’s not some damn movie where you can script the ending!”

  “No, it’s not! It’s our lives. Lives that were almost taken from us in Iraq.”

  “But they weren’t taken, and now I have a life and a career that I love. You may be willing to sacrifice that, but I’m not! I’m done with this.” I’ve heard enough. I have gone as far with them as I dare. I need to get out of here before it’s too late to undo the damage.

  I turn for the front door and feel a hand grab my shoulder and spin me around. “No you don’t.”

  I’m caught off guard by the move. I half thought it was Louisiana who grabbed me, but am surprised to see Boston in front of me. I feel my face flush with more anger.

  “Stop me,” I challenge as I give him a shove that breaks his grip on me.

  I turn for the door when Boston grabs me again. Now it’s time for a lesson. Our arms lock against each other’s shoulders and we tussle like we’re in the middle of the ring at WWF Raw. I start getting the upper hand as I back him through the room. I break his lock and shove him against the far wall of the room, knocking a picture hanging there to the ground. My eyes are drawn to it, and it’s all the distraction he needs.

  I feel something cold and hard press up against the lower part of my chin. I strain to look down and can’t believe what I see. Gina must have brought him his gun. More disconcerting is he never bothered telling us.

  “Whoa,” Louisiana blurts out, at a loss for words for probably the first time in his life.

  I release my hold on him, hoping that the move will deescalate things. It doesn’t. The Sig Sauer he has pressed under my chin doesn’t budge. Boston is wild-eyed with rage, and I wonder if he’s gone off the edge.

  “Go ahead, do it. Pull the trigger, and we’ll see just how far you’re willing to go for answers.”

  I glance over at Tara who is watching with her hand covering her open mouth. Not surprisingly, Louisiana stands next to her with an amused look on his face. Neither of them are going to come to my rescue, but it’s worth a shot.

  “Are you going to do something?” I ask either of them.

  “I wasn’t plannin’ on it, bro. But if you two boys are done roughhousin’―”

  “Shut it!” Boston barks.

  “Hey, bro, I ain’t washin’ his brains off these freshly painted walls. So shoot him if you want, but I say if he wants to go, let him go. Obviously he doesn’t have the balls for this. He’s no good to us anyway.”

  Boston thinks about it for a moment. Finally, he removes the gun from under my chin and gestures with it towards the door. I don’t take my eyes off him as I make my way over to it. As much as my conscience is screaming to get out of this house, I stop. Tara is a mess. This has been one hell of a night for her.

  “If you want out, now’s your chance.”

  She looks around, uncertain as to what to do. She was adamant in the car that Boston let her go. She has to realize this is her opportunity to be done with this. Instead, she folds her arms across her chest, not budging. I shake my head.

  “Okay, suit yourself. Let me give you a word of advice, Tara. These guys are nothing but trouble. Get out while you still can.”

  I open the door and leave without further incident. I look up and down the street to try to get my bearings. I know there’s a Metro station around this area somewhere. The walk to it will help me plan my next move. I need to figure out how to get out of this situation. More importantly, I need to stop Boston and Louisiana from getting someone killed. If I
don’t act, I fear that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

  .

  ~ CHAPTER 41 ~

  eugene “boston” hollinger

  “Well, now I just have to get rid of Boston and I can finally get some alone time with you,” Louisiana tells Tara, I’m assuming in an attempt to break the tension after Maryland leaves.

  “No such luck, dude, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Too bad.”

  “What’s going to happen now?” she whispers, her uncertainty about everything she’s witnessed apparent in her voice. Maryland must have tempted her with is offer, but she declined it for reasons I don’t understand myself. For better or worse, Tara’s fully invested in this now.

  “It’s been a long, stressful night. We should get some rest.” First Gina and now Maryland. Everything is falling apart, and it’s taking a toll on me.

  “Yeah, good luck with that, bro. I’m wired.”

  “You don’t think Maryland will run to the police?” Tara inquires.

  “He knows snitches get stitches,” the Cajun muses.

  “He’ll go to the police to save his own ass. It’s all he cares about, but right now he’s having a crisis of conscience about it. I don’t think he’ll give us up right away.” At least I hope not. I know Maryland pretty well, but we’re in uncharted territory. Staying is a big risk, but we don’t have any other place to go.

  “What if he does?” Tara presses, probably harboring the same concern.

  “Then I’ll find somethin’ in my bag of tricks for him,” Louisiana explains, unzipping the bag and inspecting some of its contents.

  “Haven’t you done enough damage tonight? You blew up a car in my neighborhood in a massive explosion,” Tara argues, dumfounded at how nonchalant he is about what happened.